


Homeward Bound

by FandomNonsense



Series: Laughter Lines [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Love, Magic, Romance, newtina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:17:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9787331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomNonsense/pseuds/FandomNonsense
Summary: As the crowd of people on the docks started to dwindle, Newt spotted Tina standing off to the side, waving his direction with a sort of sad, but hopeful smile on her face. A soft grin, much the same, stretched across his own lips as he returned the wave with his free hand. The two of them held their gaze as the steamer pulled farther into open water. Newt was genuinely sad to be leaving.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I'm new to AO3 and still getting used to it so bare with me. I've recently fallen in love with Newt and Tina. That being said, these are just one shots or ficlets that I write when I'm feeling anxious to calm myself down, and I thought I'd share them with you guys.

Newt Scamander stood on the deck of the vessel bound for his home land. The early December air was crisp and blustery, while overhead a thin blanket of gray clouds floated blocking the sun and the warmth it offered. The area abroad the ship contrasted the calm sky above; buzzing with the multitude of the wizard’s fellow passengers as they all hurried to say a last farewell to their family and friends that had come to see them off.  A swift breeze carried from the open water, tousling Newt’s mop of reddish brown hair, and he too turned his attention to the mainland.  He hadn’t strayed too far from the boarding ramp which gave him a clear view of the harbor. He felt his heart sink slightly, as he gazed over to the dock of shrinking faces, unable to find Miss. Goldstein’s. Never had leaving a country left him feeling so bitter sweet. Sure, he was anxious to get back to the Ministry and finish his manuscript— back to the quite life he valued so much. However, home was now an entire ocean away from his friends.  Friends he looked forward to seeing again. It was on a very rare occasion he found humans with whom he held such strong connections too. In his heart, he knew that he’d changed the Goldstein sister’s outlook on magical beasts just in the short time they’d spent in his magical case. As for Jacob, Newt only hoped that wherever he was, that he’d get that bakery he so dearly wanted.

As the crowd of people on the docks started to dwindle, Newt spotted Tina standing off to the side, waving his direction with a sort of sad, but hopeful smile on her face. A soft grin, much the same, stretched across his own lips as he returned the wave with his free hand. The two of them held their gaze as the steamer pulled farther into open water. Newt was genuinely sad to be leaving. 

It wasn’t until the port was a distant blur and the fantastical skyline of New York was lost in the morning December fog did the thronging people around him start to disperse.  Newt waited patiently where he stood, not wanting to push through the hordes of bodies, to go to his cabin. He focused his attention on the shoreline and the clouds breaking above. Sun was beginning to trickle through, and for a moment he almost swore he caught sight of Frank— his thunderbird— soaring among the golden rays. His heart fluttered at the thought. How far he’d come from being a prisoner in Egypt.

With a sigh, Newt ventured into the belly of the ship in search for his room. The cabin was small, and simple, with only a bed and mirrored dresser at his disposal for the remainder of his journey. It’s stark white walls brought out the vibrancy of his blue coat and yellow striped scarf.  Such mediocre accommodations would likely have disappointed other passengers, but not Newt. There was a lock on the door to keep the muggles at bay, and that was all he needed. The suit case in his hand was far more comfortable than any room or cabin he could think of. The leather, rope coiled case he held made a muffled whine and swayed slightly as the notorious lock once again flipped loose.

Newt smirked. "Hush now Dougal, I'll be down in a moment."

The creature inside retorted with a similar whine, unhappy with response he’d been given.

The wizard sat the case in the middle of the floor and removed his coat and house scarf, lying it gently on the bed parallel with the white wall.  "Yes, this'll do nicely." He commented to himself, rolling the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows and glancing at his room.

Removing his wand, he silently locked the door before kneeling to untie the rope secured around his case. He was careful opening the magical piece of luggage in hopes doing so would insure no one inside escaped. Again.

Newt maneuvered his way into the case making sure his feet met rungs on the ladder leading into his own magical world. Dougal the demiguise was waiting rather impatiently for him at the base of the ladder, dancing around eagerly for his caretaker. The second Newt’s foot met the second to last rung, the primate like creature reached its tiny paw up to pull at the hem of his trousers. 

"I honestly don't know what you're all worked up about Dougal," he said pulling the creature into his arm. The creature gently hugged Newt’s neck while he held him.  "And why are you the one always snooping in here, huh? I thought I asked you to watch the occamies."

The demiguise gibbered defensively.

"Yes well, I'm here now, there's nothing for you to be worried about." He sat the creature down on his desk, avoiding the stacks of papers he'd been writing on. Admittedly, the clutter in Newt’s little shack had grown immensely since his travels began. There where books and knickknacks from every place he'd visited, and had turned his hut into somewhat; organized chaos. Of his procured baubles, the most valuable to him were the handful of beasts he’d obtained and saved during his travels. Including the ones who had a knack for getting under his skin.

"Well if you insist on staying in here, make yourself useful," he handed the creature a stack of weathered journals – some of the few he kept his notes in for his manuscript. "Hold these. Thank you."

The demiguise cooed, its tone sounding happier than a few moments ago. Dougal gave the impression he was more than pleased with lending a hand. The creature contently sat on the wooden desk, watching Newt shuffle though the clutter, happily chirping at him. The wizard did his best to tidy some of the superfluous books,  sketches and jars by placing them in more practical homes other than just piled on his desk. The futile attempt would surely do him more harm than good later on when he would need the items he stowed away and inevitably forget he’d done so.

"I'll have those back now, please," Newt held out his hands and Dougal carefully handed the journals to him.

"I don't like leaving all of you alone in here  y’know," Newt told the creature as he dug his fingers through a small velvet purse. A moment later he pulled out a sugar cube and handed it to the demiguise. "The least you could do is tidy up the place while I'm gone," Newt halfheartedly gestured to the rest of the shack he’d neglected.

Dougal just looked at him yearningly, as if to beg for more treats.

Newt smiled softly to himself, shaking his head slightly, and handed over another sweet. "I'll take that as a no then."

Newt placed the purse back in a drawer, watching Dougal nibble on the small cube of sweetness much the way a mother watched her child. With love, compassion and pride. He wanted nothing but safety and happiness for each of his creatures, even when that meant setting them free.

While coming to America hadn’t gone exactly according to plan—it had been far more eventful than he’d imagined—he was still successful in finding Frank a better home. Perhaps what he bestowed on to Frank was even better than the wilds of Arizona. Newt had found his thunderbird the wide open skies he deserved, as well as someone to keep an eye out for him. Tina had insisted that very morning on their way to the docks that she would do her best to look after him. Knowing Frank would be in good hands had made leaving him behind slightly easier. Newt only knew a handful of people he’d trust with the care of his beloved magical creatures and Tina Goldstein was now one of them.

Newt sighed sadly even so, "it's not going to be the same around here without Frank."

Dougal turned his head to one side, looking puzzled, and followed Newt’s somber gaze out the door of his hut. Just a few paces from the entrance of the shack Frank’s desert habitat sat, quiet, and vacant. On many occasions, the bewitched sky would writhe with fierce thunder and storms as the mystical bird took flight.  Newt never minded the soft rumbles of thunder or the pitter patter of rain showering his hut as he worked inside. Actually he’d become used to the sounds, so much so he found himself inspired by the storm. His muse’s for his writing fed off the calming squalls that had now gone away. Instead, false golden rays of sun trickled in through the warped wooden slats of his shelter, and spilled onto the floor, illuminating the pilling mess. The sight pulled at Newt’s heart strings a little more and he felt down again.

Suddenly, a small chirp came from the collar of Newt’s shirt and he looked to find his accidental favorite bowtruckle, Pickett, crawling out from his hiding spot. The insect like creature perched itself on Newt’s shoulder and pointed out the doorway. 

"No, I didn't forget Frank," he assured the small green creature. "It was his time, that's all. . ." Newt sauntered to the doorway and lent against the wooden doorframe, looking up into the enchanted blue sky. "He was the hero in the end…"

His voice trailed off and he had to fight to keep his eyes from welling with tears. Pickett chirped again, this time sounding as though he was trying to comfort his human friend. Newt whipped at his eye and looked to the bowtruckle perched on his shoulder, giving the creature the best reassuring smile he could muster.

"’Least I've got you, Pickett."

The small creature nodded in agreement, the two green sprouts on his head swaying.

Newt lingered a moment, thinking back to when he caught a glimpse of Frank soaring freely over New York as the ship pushed out to sea.  He was where he needed to be.

"Shall we check on the occamies while we're out here?" He asked the bowtruckle when he’d composed himself.

Pickett chirped again, gleefully.

Newt unfastened his bowtie and collar button as he walked to the intricate, woven nest and brushed a few straggling tuffs of hair out of his face. Each small serpentine bird squawked eagerly at him when they saw their mother approaching. Their blue incandescent feathers shimmered as they excitedly flapped their small wings in delight.

"Hello everyone," he greeted the creatures softly, kneeling down to get a better look at them.

"How's your newest brother?" he asked them reaching for the occamy that had hatched in the bank. "You're not being mean to him are you?"

The occamies continued to squawk and coo while he gave the hatchling a quick inspection. Tenderly he turned the creature over—inspecting it’s scales, opening its tiny beak, and softly checking the flexibility of its wings. The creature paid no mind to his checkup, instead the occamy quietly cooed to itself, unfazed by Newt’s gentle touch.

"You’re a happy little fellow aren't you?" he smirked  at the animal. It flapped at him, and left its beak agape enough that it mimicked a tiny grin. "Reminds me of someone else I know."

He knelt, holding the small occamy for a long time, lost in his own thoughts until a toothy smile stretched across his face. "I know exactly what I'm going to call you…Jacob."

The hatchling excitedly flapped his wings and squawked loudly. The name fit him perfectly.

Gently, Newt nestled Jacob the occamy back into the nest of dried grass and straw with his brothers and sisters before turning to check on the rest of his creatures.

 

* * *

 

The mess hall aboard the passenger ship buzzed feverishly with hordes of hungry people as the dinner bell rang shrilly against the chatter. Newt had taken his time caring for and feeding his creatures in hopes he'd miss the rush, though it seemed he'd gotten the times wrong. As a result, he stood awkwardly a few steps back from everyone trying to deduce the best way to get his rations. There seemed to be little to no method as to how everyone was attaining their meal, he assumed there was some sort of counter or window where his fare would be given to him, but alas, he couldn't  see such a space from where he stood.

He felt a slight shift in the breast pocket of his yellow waist coat, and Pickett cautiously  peeked out to see what all the clamor was about. The tiny bowtruckle frowned upon seeing the swarms of individuals eager for their supper.

"I guess when it comes to mealtimes, even humans cause a ruckus." he commented to both himself and the bowtruckle.

As the crowd thinned out, a more civilized line began to form in front of a counter were two women ladled out bowls of stew with bread. Newt hadn't realized how famished he was until the aroma of hearty soup whisked past his nose. The sent made his stomach gargle.

"Thank you," he told the woman who handed him his meal when he finally made it to the counter without so much as looking at her.

Like always, Newt chose to sit at a table farthest from anyone, and in a corner. It wasn’t so much as he didn’t like being around people as it was most of the time people didn’t want to be around him. Plus, distancing himself from a room full of muggles while he worked on things for his manuscript was probably in everyone’s best interest. He wasn’t in the mood to obliviate anyone.

He placed his steaming bowl on the table he’d chosen, stirring it over and under to help cool the soup down. "This smells much better than anything I could have whipped up in that old shack."

Pickett crawled down his sleeve and onto the table, before investigating the hot bowl of stew. "Would you like to try some?" he asked the creature as he removed one of his journals and a sharpened piece of charcoal from the inner pocket of his vest. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt..."

Newt took a spoonful, and held it level so the bowtruckle could sip from the spoon.

"Well?" he asked.

Pickett chirped happily and nodded.

Newt smiled, "good huh?"

He readied himself a spoonful and looked back at the creature, "I'll be the judge of that, after all, your diet is primarily made up of small insects."

Without hesitation, he took a bite, relishing in the surprisingly delicious stew. Newt had eaten the meals of many ships throughout his journey, and this by far had been one of the better ones. 

"Yes this is much better than anything I have to eat in that case."

Newt and Pickett sat quietly in each other's company, the small green leafy creature perched on the sleeve of Newt’s shirt intently watching him sketch out an illustration for his book as he ate his meal.

The wizard had every intention of writing some while he enjoyed his meal, but the acoustics of the dining hall were no aid to his muses. The noise would've drown out his thoughts and Newt wouldn't have been any closer to being finished with his manuscript. Sketching however was something that had always come easy to him, even as boy he remembered sitting in the pasture where his mother raised Hippogriffs, sketching them as they played. He’d sit for hours in the grass with parchment and pencil drawing the fantastic beasts. 

He stopped unexpectedly when he felt Pickett take cover inside his sleeve, to which Newt turned to see what or who had frightened his friend away.

There, standing right next to him was a small boy, marveling at the sketches.

"I-is there something I can help you with?" The wizard asked the child looking around for its parents.

"You're a really good drawer." The boy complemented.

Newt’s cheeks flushed slightly, "oh, well, thank you."

He turned away, focusing on his art once more, hoping the boy would go away if he said no more.  

"What is it of?"

Newt spun again to face the child but kept his glance with the floor. "I'm sorry?"

"Your drawing. What is it?" The boy stood on the tips of his toes to get a closer look.

"Um, it's a, uh. Mandrake." He held up the journal so the boy could get a better look.

"What's a man-rake?" The boy frowned obviously unfamiliar with the creature Newt had drawn.

"Mandrake," he corrected. "It's a plant that--"

"Plants don't have faces." The child cut him off.

Newt heard Pickett chirped defensively at the child from his hiding spot in his sleeve, and the wizard smiled.

"This is a magical plant. A plant whose cries are so shrill, if heard, can be fatal."

The boy’s face scrunched up, and he abruptly looked concerned. Newt could sense that maybe he'd let his knowledge get the better of him. The idea of a harmful plant looked to upset the tiny muggle child. He wasn't sure how to comfort the boy, so he quickly shut the journal of sketches and turned meeting the boys eyes with the softest expression he could muster.

"You mustn’t  worry about them though," he told the child in a forgiving tone to match his face.

He looked at Newt, his brown eyes looking scared. "Really?"

"Mhmm. Do you know why?"

The boy shook his head.

"Because I take care of these types of creatures, and I promise not to let a single one of them get you."

When it came to humans, children often found magic in everything, which meant Newt could speak freely of all the wonderful creatures without the Ministry or MACUSA jumping all over him. To the boy, everything that Newt told him was nothing more than a fairytale. 

"Jonathan!" A woman called suddenly, causing both the boy and Newt to look up.

"Jonathan, there you are!" She was  flushed and out of breath, but relief suffused her features. "What have I told you about running off?"

Jonathan cowered, glancing down at the floor but said nothing.

"Terribly sorry, Mister?" The woman queried.

"Um, Scamander." He fumbled to stand,  as he awkwardly introduced himself. "Newt Scamander." His arms dangled at his sides, feeling uneasy in the situation that had happened upon him suddenly.

"Well, what do we say to Mr. Scamander for disrupting his supper?"

The little boy looked up at the wizard shyly, "sorry Mr. Scamander." The boy hugged himself, swaying slightly as he stood.

Newt smiled softly at the young boy, finding it easier to hold his gaze with Jonathan than his scornful mother. “No apology necessary Jonathan,” he told the child. “Sorry my drawing frightened you,” Newt ruffled the boys  blond hair.

Jonathans mother held out her hand and the boy reached for the open palm. "Good day to you Mr. Scamander." The boy’s mother’s expression softened and the hint of a friendly smile pulled at her lips as she bid the wizard farewell before walking out of the busy mess hall. 

 

* * *

 

Newt finished is supper without any more disturbances and was able to complete a few sketches for his book as well. He poured just as much detail into each of the drawings as he did care for his creatures. The illustrations and diagrams accompanying each of the creatures for his book needed to be as accurate as possible in order for his fellow wizards to truly understand the magnificence of each beast the way he did.

The mess hall had emptied, and he was enjoying the seldom heard silence aboard a passenger ship. He welcomed the seclusion. Although he didn’t linger too long, not wanting to be a bother to the crew who were to clean up the area. After a while he carefully gathered his journal and dull piece of charcoal before making his journey back to his case of creatures. Most of the travelers were quite, tucked away in their cabins as the hour ticked later with each passing second. He alone seemed the only passenger. As he ambled slowly, almost in a dreamlike state,  a content little smile spread across  his face. Oh what stories he would be bringing back to his family, like how he managed to save an entire species, or rescued a thunderbird whom he called Frank, and maybe even that he chased a pesky niffler all over New York City to keep him from thieving all the jewelry stores. But his favorite and most unlikely story by far would be about the friends he'd made in his pursuit of his escaped creatures and managed to apprehend a powerful dark wizard while they did so. He was ready to have his book done, partly on account it gave him an excuse to return to America, to see his friends again. 

Newt wasn’t sure what time it was when his feet finally brought him to the door of his cabin, he figured it was close to midnight. He always did easily lose track of time –something his professors loved to remind him of during his time at school. Newt didn’t bother switching the light on in his dark room, he simply locked his door and swiftly made for his suit case lying in the middle of the floor.

Pickett peeked out from the top of Newts vest as he meticulously made his way down into the whimsical world of magical creatures. The bowtruckle chirped blissfully, glad to be in a familiar place.

"Yes, home sweet home isn't it?" Newt murmured.

He kicked off his boots, and un-looped the buttons of his waist coat. "Time for a quite night in," he said to himself and his leafy friend.

The small confines of his shelter lacked space for a proper bed, however, towards the rear of the small hut –past his ladder and messy desk—hung a hammock, draped with a single blanket.  The nook in which the hammock  hung was encompassed by three, floor to ceiling shelves of books and trinkets with not but a couple lanterns for light. It was cozy, and warm, and it suited him far better than the stark white walls and drab interior of his room just outside the case.

Newt ducked around the ladder and cradled himself in his hammock, sketch book in hand, and Pickett balanced on his shoulder. Almost immediately, the wizard let out a single yawn, and it struck him— he hadn't slept any since he'd arrived in New York.

Pickett too let out a soft little yawn, causing Newt to laugh. He would let sleep come when the time came, but until then he could work some more on his illustrious.

The golden glow from the two lanterns illuminated the pages of his journal just enough for him to detail another drawing. This time though, the image he sketched onto the thick parchment –ever so delicately –wasn’t that of a beast, but of a creature with whom even he couldn’t quite master an understanding for.

In all honesty, Newt had not meant to draw Miss. Goldstein’s portrait, yet somehow her soft features, warm dark eyes and short tousled hair had bewitched his charcoal and now her image consumed most of the page. The wizard drew out a small pocket knife and cut away at the dulling edge of the charcoal until it came to a perfect point. He positioned himself more comfortably in the swaying hammock and gently continued to softly shade around the pair of dark eyes boring back at him. The eyes were the heart and soul of the picture –that went for anything or anyone he drew. If he couldn’t capture the magic and character of the eyes, the entire drawing was ruined.

The wizard dropped the piece of charcoal and held out the journal to assess his work.

“I suppose it looks like her,” he sounded unsure of himself. “What do you think Pickett?” He moved the book of sketches closer for the small creature perched on his shoulder.

The bowtruckle gazed at the graphic for a moment before replying was an assuring chirp and slight nod. Newt however remained unconvinced.

He was certain that he hadn’t captured something about her just right, yet he couldn’t put a finger on whatever it was. The drawing both resembled Tina, and didn’t. Unfortunately, he lacked the luxury of having a photograph for reference; he had nothing but a memory to guide him.

With a sigh, Newt tore the page from the spine of the book and wadded it up before flinging it across the room.

Pickett audibly gasped, the smallest squeak of an inhale, indicating his surprise. Newt apologized to the creature, explaining why he’d tossed the drawing away. The bowtruckle scolded him nonetheless.

A moment later, another yawn escaped Newt’s lips and suddenly a wave of tiredness washed over him. He stretched his arms, cradling them behind his head as he gazed through the slates in the roof of his shack.

A faux night sky calmly greeted him, with trillions of silver stars twinkling down upon him, against their satin black heaven. The hammock rocked ever so slightly, back and forth, making Newt’s eyelids heavy with sleep. His body relaxed and he let his mind drift.

Just as sleep was beckoning with its tranquil gift, a large mass landed upon his chest. Newt startled awake, hollering from the sudden weight thrust upon him. His wide green eyes found nothing, until –with a shimmer –Dougal appeared, directly on top of him. In the demiguise’s hand, he held the crumpled piece of parchment marked with Miss Goldstein’s portrait.

“Dougal, what –” Newt stopped as he watched the creature tenderly unwrap the balled up paper to look at it.

With vivid eyes, Dougal leered at the page for a long time. Newt wasn’t sure what to make of the creatures sudden interest in his art work, so he simply waited and observed. After a while, the demiguise pointed to the paper and looked at Newt knowingly.

“Do you know who that drawing is of?” he tested the creature.

Demiguise, like most ape like creatures, were quite intelligent. It had been in Newt’s experience with working with him, that on some level, Dougal could understand language and remember faces. He was also able to teach the creature a little bit of sign language. Dougal even instinctively took care of some of the smaller creatures roaming around inside of the case –mostly the occamies. Demiguise were truly interesting creatures.

Dougal glanced back at the wrinkled journal page he held, than back to his caretaker.

“Who’s portrait is drawn on that piece of paper Dougal?”

The primate like creature sat the paper down and pointed to Newt, than to the drawing before finally placing two tiny open paws over his heart.

Newt couldn’t help but to smile at the creature. All the hours spent teaching the animal common phrases in sign language had worked. Not only had the demiguise learnt the sign for love, but proved he was very intuitive and could in fact remember faces.

“You realize what you’re implying don’t you?” Newt asked as he picked up his drawing to look at it once more.

Dougal cooed softly as if to say yes.

With a slight grunt, Newt sat up, moving Dougal to the foot of the hammock, and studied the picture a while longer. He still wasn’t happy with how he’d drawn her, yet now felt compelled to keep the drawing.

Newt shook his head at the demiguise with a smirk on his cheek and propped the piece of paper  up within eye sight. He’d keep the illustration around until he could obtain an actual photo of Miss Tina Goldstein.

As Newt laid back down, his heart felt warmed. He was in a happy place; content. Dougal stayed snuggled beside him and Pickett was fast asleep on his shoulder. His hammock swayed despite the added weight and soon, sleep once again surrounded him. Newt’s journey was drawing to a close; his manuscript would soon be finished, his book published, and he then could see his American friends once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. I love the idea that Newt is also an artist, though, being one myself I may be a little bias. Let me know your thoughts if you really enjoyed/hated it. 
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr at: fandom-non-sense  
> that's where I post progress and links to my fics if you guys are interested.
> 
>  
> 
> Take Care,  
> Chels


End file.
